Predicament

Oblivion is an evil.

Its bad enough that you fall into an abyss of despair while you convince yourself that that's where you'd find the elixir to your life. But losing your sagacity into a reverie down there is worse.

You continue with your vain attempts to breathe back life into whats dead, whilst the decomposers build up their colony to rot it until it becomes rancid. Ire devours most of it.

Feelings are inflated sometimes, so elevated that wearing'em like an armour brings you down in the combat against yourself. It perforates your shield and your red fluid dribbles out through the holes. Blood, they say. Well isn't it something what You refer to as your clarity?

Masochism feels easier than letting go when you give in everything; it feels like an injustice to yourself to walk away with nothing. Pfff! You say to yourself, "hold on till the moment you breathe last". Yeah, that's one way how you can throw in the blame on fate and catch the fourth dimension to be culpable for your affliction and scourge! That's rather comforting than choosing to reckon that you overestimated than what it was actually worth of.

Time's a healer, they say, but never adds along the verity that it's the wound that's likely to be healed, not scars. Scars would rather embellish the anguish in alluring spectacles keeping you from the contemplation of flaking out.

So the choice is crystal-like.

And for the note: She's immune to you now. Because you can't shatter a wrecked glass.